Creature Discomforts
by Sask
Summary: When a horrifying murder takes place, Crabtree discovers more than he bargained for...
1. Chapter 1

It was barely six o'clock in the morning and Detective Murdoch had been called from his bed to the scene of another murder. He looked up at the imposing building at the far end of Yonge Street and frowned. RLS Industries had stood on this site for more than thirty years according to the stone plaque fixed proudly above the grand, wide entrance flanked by Grecian style pillars. A large, family owned and well respected business, they rivalled Bayer in the chemicals industry.

However, this was now the third murder that had been committed in this building in the last two weeks. Worse still, he was nowhere near finding a plausible suspect. There had been a number of people questioned already and some had motive, others had opportunity but he believed that no one had means and certainly no one had all three. He dreaded the sight that awaited him inside. Stepping through the tall mahogany panelled doors into the surprisingly light and airy foyer he was met, once again, by the manager, Montague Brassett.

"Detective," he began with a serious, almost accusing tone. "Another murder! Why haven't you caught the creature yet?"

"Creature?" Murdoch raised an eyebrow.

"Well how else do you explain... what's happened?" He shuddered at the memory.

"You think this was the work of an animal? Repeatedly coming back to the same building to kill?" Murdoch asked, his tone heavy with scepticism.

"No, Detective, not an animal. A creature."

The look on the man's face showed him to be absolutely serious. Murdoch took a deep breath, being careful to show no outward sign of his thoughts on the matter. No doubt he would have the same conversation when he spoke to Crabtree. He often wondered why, in times of great stress and fear such as this, people always seemed to look to the supernatural for an explanation. Was it simply a lack of understanding or did it go deeper than that? Was it reluctance to believe that any act so horrifying could be committed by a man? Possibly even someone they knew? It seemed a likely scenario. Who indeed would want to believe that such atrocities could be carried out by an acquaintance? Murdoch's face softened into a sympathetic expression.

"Could you take me to the murder scene, please? I assume my constable is already there?"

"Yes, Detective," Brassett nodded. "If you don't mind," his voice faltered momentarily, "I won't go inside. I can't... I just can't bear to see Wilson like that again."

"Of course," Murdoch nodded his understanding.

As they turned the corner, Murdoch spotted Constable Crabtree writing in his notebook just outside the door to one of the many laboratories.

"I'll leave you to it, Detective," Brassett halted in his tracks. "I cannot go any further."

"That's quite all right, Mr Brassett." Murdoch nodded again and approached Crabtree. "What have you, George?"

Crabtree looked up and offered a thin smile. It was abundantly clear that he was trying to maintain a professional manner, but the sight within the room had shaken him to the core and he looked pale and drawn.

"Sir," even his voice was subdued, "it's even worse than last time."

Murdoch raised both eyebrows in surprise. Crabtree was often given to drama in certain circumstances, but judging from the expression on his face, this was not one of them.

"Do we have an identity?"

"Yes, sir," Crabtree paused momentarily as Detective Murdoch walked past him into the room.

He knew he had to go back in, but he dreaded it with every fibre in his body. Finally following Murdoch inside, he almost collided with him as he had gone no further than a few feet into the room. He watched the detective as he slowly, reverently, crossed himself as his eyes scanned the room, taking in the horrific sight with an equal mix of revulsion and disbelief.

"George?" Murdoch finally prompted as he stepped further inside, taking a deep breath to gather himself.

"Sir, this is, Doctor Gabriel Hamilton. He was a research assistant working under Doctor Silas March."

"How was he identified?" Murdoch looked astonished by the very possibility.

"His name tag, sir," Crabtree replied grimly. "Or rather, what's left of it."

"Indeed."

Murdoch exhaled deeply; the case was disturbing, not only for the number of victims of the killer, but for the sheer violence and destruction that it now appeared was escalating with each attack.

The laboratory was in complete disarray. Whatever the doctor had been working on, both his experiment and the bench on which it stood had been smashed. Broken, splintered wood and glass all spattered with blood lay strewn about the floor. Shelves emptied of their contents held deep scratches and gouges in them. Books, flasks and bottles all barely recognisable. Amidst all the debris were pieces of flesh, bone and parts of limbs. It was as if Doctor Hamilton had been torn limb from limb and his organs ripped from the torso. His head was nowhere in sight.

"What do you make of that, George?" Murdoch stared at the blackboard, half standing, half leaning precariously.

Upon the blackboard, apart from splashes of corrosives and other liquids and blood smears were written a sequence of numbers. It read:

49, 20, 34, 8, 9, 9, 85, 13, 53, 22, 53, 22, 16, 4, 6, 79, 34, 8, 9, 63, 16, 73, 58, 9, 18, 75

"I'm not sure, sir." Crabtree looked thoughtful. "It looks like some sort of code. Do you think it might have something to do with his experiments? Some sort of mathematical sequence perhaps?"

"If it is, it's not one I'm aware of," Murdoch drew his lips into a thin line and began carefully copying the sequence down.

"Detective Murdoch," came a quiet voice behind them.

Crabtree's heart sank. Turning quickly, Crabtree tried his level best to use his body to block the terrible scene from the new arrival.

"Emily!" Crabtree cried. "Doctor Grace, this is no... I mean, it's so..." He sighed and looked down. "It's terrible."

"I know, George," Doctor Grace replied resolutely; her voice stronger than she felt. "But this is my job, however awful the scene, I must attend."

Patting his arm gratefully, she knew he was only trying to protect her, not just because she was a woman, but simply because he cared about her.

"Of course," he replied admiringly as he stood back.

Doctor Grace felt completely different inside. As with Murdoch and Crabtree, the scene repulsed her and it was taking all of her strength to remain inside. But, she knew the sooner she began, the sooner they could all leave.

"Doctor Grace?" Murdoch began, closing his notebook. "What are your impressions?"

Taking a steadying breath, Doctor Grace stepped further into the room and looked around at the carnage.

"It appears that the attacks are increasing in their ferocity, although the basic elements appear to be the same. I won't know for certain until I get all the pieces back to the morgue, but I do believe there is something new, Detective."

"Oh?" Murdoch turned to face her, sincerely hoping that the new piece of evidence would lead him to a suspect.

"The torso has been emptied of the organs this time, rather than just being torn open. But more than that, it would appear that the heart is missing."

Murdoch knit his brows; that certainly was a new development.

"You're certain, Doctor?" He questioned.

"As I said, Detective, I would need a thorough check of the room, but the laboratory is quite small and I don't see it anywhere. Look," she pointed, "the lungs and liver over there. I believe I can see the pancreas on that shelf and the stomach is under the remains of the bench."

"Sir," Crabtree began. "Doesn't that suggest that the destruction of the room occurred after Doctor Hamilton was dismembered."

"Very good, George," Murdoch nodded, making a note. "I agree. That wasn't clear in the previous murders. As you say, Doctor Grace, the attacks are becoming increasingly violent."

"Do I have your permission to remove the body, Detective?" Doctor Grace asked.

"Yes, of course," Murdoch nodded closing his notebook once more and turning for the door. "I'll send in a couple of constables to assist you."

"Thank you," Doctor Grace gave a polite nod and, as Crabtree walked past, a kind smile.

Once in the corridor, Crabtree exhaled deeply, unaware that he had been holding his breath at all.

"Nasty business, Detective," he sighed.

"Don't worry, George, we will get him."

Murdoch's words were sincere, almost fervent. It was a constant encouragement to the young constable that Murdoch believed in their abilities so much and was so moved by the horrific scene as to be absolutely determined. Murdoch was a detective like no other in Crabtree's estimation. Not only was he intelligent, brave and thorough, but he was driven to seek justice in a way that made other detectives seem almost lackadaisical. Apathetic was most definitely not a word that could be used to describe William Murdoch in any aspect of his life. It was this, amongst many things that made Crabtree grateful to be under his tutelage.

"What now, sir?" Crabtree asked, relieved to be out of the room for the time being.

"I think it's time to interview the night watchman and find out how he managed to hear nothing."


	2. Chapter 2

"Sir?"Crabtree paused. He wasn't waiting for a response so much as the opportunity to properly frame his thoughts.  
"Yes, George?" Murdoch replied as the pair walked along the now familiar corridors.

Crabtree frowned as they walked along the stark, sterile corridor. The walls were painted a bland off-white. There was nothing to distinguish one corridor for another except the room numbers placed roughly at eye level to the right of each door frame. The plain white squares with thin black numbers etched into them barely stood out and only served to emphasise the building's functional interior, which lay in stark contrast to the dramatic and almost overbearing exterior.

"Sir," Crabtree began again; uncertain of himself. "I'm finding myself somewhat disturbed by this case."  
"That doesn't surprise me, George," Murdoch replied. "A sequential killer is the curse of a policeman's life."  
"It's not the number of murders particularly. Although that in itself is shocking. It's..." He paused again.  
"The ferocity?" Murdoch suggested helpfully.  
"Not even that, sir. Although, again, it's certainly the worst sight I've ever encountered in my life. And if I'm honest, sir, I'm keen for it to remain so."  
"Then what is it, George?" Murdoch asked with a kind, yet cautious, tone.  
"Well, sir, it's the purposeless of it. There seems to me to be absolutely no motive."  
"There is always a motive, George. We just haven't found it yet," Murdoch replied firmly and he hoped, reassuringly.  
"Yes, sir. I've heard you say that on many occasion. But, I've also heard..."

_Here it comes, thought Murdoch with a deep internal sigh._

"... that the employees - doctors, sir, all intelligent men. Well, sir, they think that it could be the work of some sort of demonic creature."  
"It isn't, George," he replied with absolute conviction.  
"Well, just a moment, sir, hear me out."  
"Are you about to suggest that Doctor Frankenstein is real and has brought his monster to life in this very laboratory?"  
"No, sir, but that is a very interesting theory."  
"It's not a theory, George, I was..." he sighed, it wasn't worth explaining. "Tell me your theory."  
"Well, I've been looking into this one, and there seems to be a creature called a Wendigo. Sir, it's a human possessed by an evil spirit. The demon, if you will, forces it to lose its senses and memory and behave in a terrible way. Sir, it tears at its victim and eats it. A cannibal, sir and when the demon withdraws into his eerie other world, the possessed person retains no memory of the dreadful events. Well, I mean, sir. The heart is missing, is it not?"  
"And your point, George?" Murdoch sighed as he drew to a halt outside the building's security office.  
"Well, sir..." George nodded meaningfully behind him. "Sir, the victim. He's been torn apart and the heart is missing. It all fits."  
"We will look for clues, constable. Ask questions, check alibis. We'll do everything the way we usually do. We will gather the evidence in the same way and when we arrest the culprit, I promise you, George, he will not be a demon, a fairy or a spirit. We are looking for a man, George. An evil, strong, violent, crazed man. And we will find and arrest him, I promise you."  
"Sir," Crabtree nodded, unconvinced.

Opening the door to the security office, Murdoch saw two men: one a tall, fresh-faced young man with blond hair with the beginnings of a moustache forming, the other, a middle-aged man, with dark but greying hair, paunchy with a round, lined face. He appeared sullen, or possibly tired. Murdoch concluded that he was probably the night watchman and the other, younger man, was taking the day shift.

"Which one of you is Mullins?" Murdoch asked. "The night watchman."  
"I'm Mullins," the older man growled with a surly tone. "What do you want? You're keeping me from my bed."  
"You watch your manners," Crabtree interjected. "Don't you know who you're talking to?"  
"No, I don't and what's more, I don't care. The boss asked me to stay to talk to you and I've been waiting for nearly thirty minutes and all I want is my bed."  
"I can offer you a bed at the station if you prefer, Mr Mullins?" Murdoch replied with a genial tone.  
"Coppers," Mullins snorted. "You wouldn't talk that way to a toff now, would you?" He snapped accusingly.  
"And a 'toff' as you put it wouldn't talk to me in the manner that you did, Mr Mullins. Now, as it stands you're wasting my time and more of your own. The faster we do this, the sooner you can take to your bed."  
"What do you want?" He grumbled in reply, reluctantly accepting the detective's logic.  
"I am Detective William Murdoch and this is Constable Crabtree. We are investigating last night's murder."  
"And the others no doubt?"  
"Those too," Murdoch nodded. "But at the moment I am interested in last night's murder. In particular, I would like to know how a horrific murder could take place and the room practically destroyed and yet you were unaware of it."  
"What of it?" Mullins shrugged.  
"You didn't hear anything?" Murdoch asked. "Nothing at all?"  
"No, I didn't. Now is that all?"  
"No, Mr Mullins, that is not all," Murdoch replied, growing increasingly irritated by the man's brusqueness.  
"Charlie, tell him," the other man encouraged. "He's not just going to know is he?"  
"Tell me what, Mister...?"  
"Hollis," the young man replied. "Archie Hollis."  
"And what do you think I should be aware of Mr Hollis?"  
"Sir, you've seen the size of this place," he waved an arm to indicate. "I could walk around this place all day and not cover the same room twice."  
"Isn't that something of an exaggeration, Mr Hollis?"  
"Yes, a little but it's not much of one. We have routes that we follow. We do one circuit of the building then we check the yard to the perimeter fence and the outbuildings. Then we do another walk of the building. It was in that second walk that Charlie here found him and called you. If it happened while he was outside, there's no way he could have heard it."  
"Then why not just say that?" He asked, turning a questioning stare at Mullins.  
"You seemed to be accusing me," Mullins grumbled. "I didn't appreciate that."  
"I'm going to need the log of your route of the building and the times when you were outside."  
"Why?" He he asked indignantly.  
"When Doctor Grace determines the time of death I will be able to check your whereabouts."  
"There you go again! Accusing me!"  
"Or ruling you out, Charlie," Hollis offered the alternative.  
"Yes, well, I don't want to end up hanging on the end of a rope because some young strumpet says he was killed while I was here!"  
"You just watch your mouth, sir!" Crabtree marched forward only to be held back as Murdoch stuck out his arm to block his path. "Sir, he can't..."  
"If you want me to arrest you, Mr Mullins, I can do just that," Murdoch interrupted.  
"Ha!" Mullins waved an arm dismissively. "You'll be wasting your time."  
"No Mister Mullins, I'll be wasting yours. And as you so firmly pointed out, you are keen for your bed."  
"All right, all right, I'm sorry, just make sure she gets it right, because I didn't do this! Can I go now?"  
"Yes, Mr Mullins, you can go."

Murdoch pursed his lips and watched as Mullins left the room, earning a harsh glare from Crabtree as he passed. Following him out, Murdoch checked his pocket watch.

"I want to speak to Mr Brassett again, George, there's something I need to clear up."  
"What's that, sir?" Crabtree asked.  
"The identity of the victim. He seemed to think it was a man called Wilson but as you said, the name tag on his lab coat said Hamilton. I need to know if it was Hamilton, why did he think it was Wilson or if it was Wilson, why he was wearing Hamilton's coat."  
"That is strange. Of course, it would make it a lot simpler if we could find the head."  
"Or..."

Murdoch was interrupted by an intense bloodcurdling scream coming from further down the corridor. Both of them broke into a run. As they rounded the corner, they saw Mr Brassett with a man standing over him.

"Stay where you are! Toronto Constabulary. Identify yourself," Murdoch called.  
"I... I didn't do anything!" The man stammered. "I just walked in and he screamed and passed out."

The man appeared genuinely concerned and confused and as Murdoch drew alongside him he could see why. Looking at the name tag on his coat, he nodded.

"Doctor Wilson?"  
"Yes, what's happened?"  
"I'm afraid there's been another murder."  
"Oh no! Who?" He asked, eyes widened in surprise. "And why did..." He gestured down to Brassett's still prone form.  
"We believe it was Doctor Hamilton," Murdoch replied, studying Wilson's face for a response.  
"Hamilton?" He placed his hand over his mouth and shook his head slowly. "I can't believe it. The same as the others?"  
"I'm afraid so," Murdoch nodded. "Mr Brassett thought that the victim had been you, hence his reaction."  
"He thought I'd returned from the dead?" Wilson smiled his amusement despite the awful circumstances.  
"It would appear so."  
"But why did he think it was me?"  
"That's exactly what I intend to find out, Doctor."


End file.
